


these dead end streets i call my home

by ohallows



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 15:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohallows/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: His brother is dead. Feryn, who would smile at him from across the dinner table and flick peas at him, who tried to patiently teach Zolf the intricacies of miming, who kept secrets because he knew it would keep his family safe, who Zolf trusted more than anyone in the world, is gone, and Zolf... doesn’t know what to do. He feels adrift, lost in a spinning wheel of pain and grief and anger and... more emotions that he knew how to deal with. So he just shuts down, narrowing his focus to the immediate task ahead of him before any of the emotions could come spilling out of him, because the minute they did Zolf knew he was going to drown.





	these dead end streets i call my home

**Author's Note:**

> me @ myself: you construct intricate backstories which allow you to explore the motivations of characters 
> 
> shoutout to zoe (and the rest of the cowards discord) for the assist w the ring it’s never been described ever so it *could* be this
> 
> (the dwarven funeral service is cobbled together from like 8 different sources; also since it wasn’t specified iirc im putting feryn at 24 when he died, and zolf at around 16,,, idk how dwarf ages work pathfinder and dnd pls just make a standard aging system this confusion is so unneccesary. also i can’t remember if it was ever established when zolf’s parents died but for plot convenience purposes they’re alive here - also this is not how joining the navy works pls just run w me zolf wouldn’t know this either) 
> 
> title is from ‘wasteland’ by x ambassadors! also, spite truly is a powerful motivator
> 
> (want a playlist? check it out: https://open.spotify.com/user/1281562717/playlist/34cv9O2gnCLgHwYGmVONOq?si=HYDMT6XxSbWQqI4Ct3xQIw)

The cave is dark, lit by a few green lamps that cast long shadows on the walls. Most of the workers have darkvision, so they don’t need the lamps, but the miners brought them in for everyone who wasn’t able to see. Like Zolf. 

The pickaxes strike against the stone in a clanging rhythm, broken only by the slow keening of Zolf’s mother, echoing off of the walls and drowning out the sound of the rain outside. It should be raining today. The sky opened up in the morning and hasn’t stopped since; it’s only right that the heavens cry for Feryn.

His brother is dead. Feryn, who would smile at him from across the dinner table and flick peas at him, who tried to patiently teach Zolf the intricacies of mining, who kept secrets because he knew it would keep his family safe, who Zolf trusted more than anyone in the world, is gone, and Zolf... doesn’t know what to do. He feels adrift, lost in a spinning wheel of pain and grief and anger and... more emotions that he knew how to deal with. So he just shuts down, narrowing his focus to the immediate task ahead of him before any of the emotions could come spilling out of him, because the minute they did Zolf knew he was going to drown.

Zolf  _hates_  this. The sound of the pickaxes striking the rock, the slow rumble of the mountain around them, the feeling of the walls slowly closing in on him as he tries to control his breathing... the only saving grace keeping him held together is the fresh air wafting in from the open cliff face, a sharp wind with the tang of salt from the sea. It helps Zolf center himself, helps him keep chipping away at the rock that is going to become his brother’s tomb.

 

—

 

“Make sure you come back before it’s dark!” Zolf’s mother called through the door of their cottage as Zolf tugged Feryn along behind him.

“We will, I promise!” Feryn yelled back as Zolf laughed. He could swear that he heard his mother give a long-suffering sigh as they jumped off the porch and ran down the worn stone path.

The beach was only a little ways down the road from their house, but even with Zolf leading the charge and looking as impatient as he could, they still had to stop at almost every house along the way. One of their neighbors would call out to him or, more often, to Feryn, and with a slightly fond look Feryn would make Zolf stop running and go have a conversation. Based on the looks Feryn kept giving him, Zolf was pretty sure he was at least being a little rude, but no one seemed to understand that they were on a mission.

So Zolf would bounce back and forth on his feet while Feryn would exchange pleasantries, and then Feryn would bid the neighbor goodbye and then they were off again, Zolf tugging on Feryn’s hand and yelling at him to pick up the pace.

They finally reached the beach just as the sun was starting to rise, and Zolf scampered over to the long pier, running straight to the end and skidding to an abrupt halt as Feryn chased behind him, laughing.

Zolf breathed a sigh of relief; they hadn’t missed it. He sat down on the edge of the pier and let his legs dangle off of the edge, pulling his shoes off so that, when he stretched, he could just brush the water with the tips of his toes. Feryn followed suit, leaning back on his arms and watching quietly.

Silent ships sailed by, illuminated from behind by the light of the rising sun. Each ship bore a different colored flag, some representing countries and some representing companies. The flags gleamed in the light, casting long shadows over the water.

“Do you think it’s hard to work on a ship?” Zolf asked his brother, not tearing his eyes away from the sails.

Feryn laid down next to him, resting his head on his interlocked hands. “Probably just as hard as working in the mines. Especially if you get seasick.”

They sat there in silence as the ships came into port. It was too far away to actually hear, but Zolf liked to imagine the cries of the workers as they rushed around the boat, pulling the sails up and messing with the rope and climbing the mast or the rigging.

“I want to work on a ship someday, Feryn,” Zolf said, leaning against the post on the pier as he watched the ships pass by in the dawn light.

“So not a miner, then?” Feryn asked, one eye cracking open as he looked up at his younger brother.

“I don’t wanna work underground all day and only be outside when it’s dark,” Zolf whined. “I want to be in the sun, I want to be on the sea!”

Feryn laughed, head thrown back. He reached over and ruffled Zolf’s hair. “Sure, kid,” he said, tone full of affection. “You can be whatever you want to be when you grow up.”

Zolf beamed up at him, until Feryn’s grin turned mischievous and Zolf got about a half second of warning before Feryn pushed him off of the pier into the water, cackling as he jumped in after him. 

 

—

 

At the end of the day, the coffin has been dug into the rock face, and Zolf steps back to wipe the sweat from his brow. A few of the other miners stand around leaning on their pickaxes, watching as the storm outside finally starts to recede, leaving the hard rock face of the cliff slick and dark from rain.

Zolf’s mother hasn’t stopped singing the entire time, her mournful cries echoing around the cavern.

Tomorrow, they would be burying Feryn. Encasing him in the rock, returning him to the earth that sustains their entire village. They were lucky they even found the body to be buried; his body had been prayed over by the priest to set his spirit on a safe path to the astral plane before being wrapped in their ancestral colors.

Zolf hadn’t gone. He didn’t - he couldn’t watch. It was enough that he would have to help carry his brother’s bo- his _brother_  up the mountain tomorrow so that they could bury him.

The procession back to the village is somber and silent, broken only by the distant roar of thunder as the storm passes on, rippling over the sea. The miners all peel off as they reach their homes, clapping a solid, callused hand on Zolf’s shoulder with a muttered apology. Eventually, it’s just Zolf and his parents standing alone with the priest of Hephaestus, who is quietly going over the plans for tomorrow with them.

Zolf just - he can’t hear anymore. He thinks he apologizes before leaving, but he can’t be sure over the roar of the waves in his head.

He slams the cottage door shut behind him as he stumbles into the house, feet moving mechanically as he walks to his room and shuts the door behind him, slowly sliding down the worn wood and pulling his knees to his chest, breathing out of control as he tries to come back to himself.

 

—

 

“Happy birthday, love,” was the first thing Zolf heard as he woke up, glancing blearily up at his mother. She leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, wrapping him up in a tight hug even as he squealed with laughter and tried to scoot away from her reach. “Come back, I have to give you a kiss for every year you’ve been my little boy!”

She pressed nine more kisses to his cheeks, until Zolf finally scrambled away, nearly falling off of the bed before he was able to steady himself.

“I’m making breakfast, so come down soon okay? Plus, Feryn has something he wants to show you,” she said, running her fingers through his hair to flatten it down.

“Okay, Mum,” he said, laughing. “What is it?”

“It’s a secret!” She tapped him on the nose as he pouted up at her. “So don’t take too long, love.”

Zolf sprang out of bed and nearly ran over to the dresser as his mother headed out of his room. Today was his tenth birthday, and he finally wasn’t a kid anymore.

He pulled his clothes on in record speed before bounding down the stairs. True to her word, his mother had prepared a veritable smorgasbord of food for them, with eggs and bacon and potatoes and sausage sitting in the middle of the table. Zolf’s father was already seated at the table, drinking a glass of tea. He stood up as Zolf headed into the kitchen, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Happy birthday, son,” he said. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Zolf said, smiling.

He slid into his seat at the table, hands drumming impatiently on his lap as his mother began to spoon food onto their plates. Feryn ambled down a moment later, ruffling Zolf’s hair before sitting down in his own seat.

“Happy birthday, squirt,” he said; Zolf scowled at him. “Oh come on, don’t give me that look. Or... do you not want the present your coolest older brother gave you?”

Zolf snorted. “You’re my only older brother.”

“Coolest by default, then,” Feryn said, shrugging. “Hurry up and eat, I have something to show you.”

Zolf obliged, ignoring his mother’s good-natured, “You actually want to taste the foodwhen you eat, love,” in favor of scarfing down breakfast as quickly as possible. He finished before Feryn and, after a quick, “may I please be excused,” brought his plate up to the sink to clean it off. Feryn had finished by the time he was done, leaving his plate in the sink.

“Me and Zolf are heading out,” he announced, nudging Zolf with his elbow.

“Have fun, boys,” their father said, with a knowing smile at Zolf. Feryn laughed, before leaning down to press a kiss to their mother’s cheek. Zolf followed suit, and then they were out of the door.

They were halfway down the path when Feryn turned to him with a serious look on his face. “This is a surprise, so you have to keep your eyes closed until I can tell you to open them.”

Zolf returned his serious look with a skeptical one. “How am I supposed to know where I’m going if my eyes are closed?”

“That’s the fun of the surprise,” Feryn said. “Now, come on, we don’t have all day.”

Zolf nodded, closing his eyes and reaching out to grab onto his brother’s shirt sleeve. They’d played this game before when they were younger, to see how in sync they were as brothers. This was just that, but with a prize at the other end.

Feryn started walking and Zolf followed suit, keeping pace behind him as he tried not to stumble over something.

They had been walking for maybe five minutes when the sea air hit Zolf’s nose and he turned toward where the wind was blowing from.

“We’re almost there,” Feryn said.

Obviously, he opened his eyes. They were at the beach, like Zolf had thought, but he didn’t recognize this area. The tide looked like it had been blocked out by a stone formation, and the sand was smooth, as though no one had come through here in a while. But Zolf didn’t see anything that could even remotely resemble a birthday present.

Plus, Feryn must have noticed his eyes open, judging by the deep, resigned sigh and the sharp pinch he felt on his side.

“Alright, well, we’re doing this the hard way, then,” Feryn said, covering Zolf’s eyes with his hands. “No peeking allowed, yeah?”

Zolf opened his eyes again. This time, Feryn definitely noticed, because he pulled one hand back and hit Zolf upside the head with it (Zolf gave a startled, definitely manly squeal) before covering his eyes again.

He hadn’t even seen anything - Feryn’s fingers were wrapped too tightly over his eyes.

They walked forward a little bit longer, maybe a minute, until Feryn told him to stop walking.

Feryn uncovered his eyes and Zolf felt his mouth drop open. He stood there, silent, gaze flicking from the boat back to Feryn and back to the boat and back to Feryn and back to the boat and -

“You got me a _boat_?” Zolf yelled, finally turning to face his brother completely. Feryn was standing there with a self-satisfied smile on his face, arms crossed. “Well, you wanted to become a sailor, didn’t you?” he said, winking. “This won’t sail on the ocean, but maybe it’ll help you get a feel for it.”

Zolf lunged forward and pulled his brother into a hug. “It’s perfect! Did you carve it yourself? Did Dad help? How long did it take? How did you hide it? Does it have everything a real ship does? Can we -“

Feryn cut him off with a laugh, spinning him around to face the boat. “Come on, kid, questions later, go check out your boat.”

Zolf stared at his brother for another second, before giving him another hug, and racing to the boat.

It was stained a dark brown, with a long gangplank that Zolf ran up to get to the main deck. The layout of the ship was simple - tunnels underneath that he could crawl through with portholes, a ladder up to the mast, steering wheel in the front.

It was the best birthday gift Zolf had ever gotten. Feryn strolled over when Zolf called his name, hands in his pockets.

“So, do you like it?” he asked, shading his eyes from the sun with a hand as he looked up at Zolf.

“It’s amazing!” Zolf yelled back from the top of the mast, feeling the wind trace along his skin. “It’s just like a real ship!”

“It’s all yours! You just have to promise one thing,” Feryn said, leaning back against the ship. “If you do end up becoming a sailor when you grow up, and travel the world, make sure to come back and visit sometime, yeah?”

Zolf nodded. “I promise.”

 

—

 

Zolf wakes up early on the second day of the funeral, and he’s in his bed without realizing how he got to it. It’s still dark outside, and they won’t have to head over to the church for the ceremonial rites until midmorning. He tries to roll over and go back to sleep, but his mind keeps throwing him into a whirlwind of rocks and dirt and trapped and fear and eventually he sits up, breathing heavily, and lights the lamp next to his bed. Shakily, he runs a hand through his hair and curls his knees to his chest.

Sleep is futile, at this point, but Zolf really doesn’t feel up to moving, and Feryn’s gone, he’s _gone_ , and there’s nothing Zolf can do to bring his brother back, _nothing_  -

He takes one deep breath, and then another, remembering how Feryn would coach him through the panic attacks he got the first time he went into the mines. Counts to eight in his head, inhaling, and then letting everything out in a slow exhale.

It helps, marginally. It at least helps enough to the point that Zolf doesn’t think he’s going to crumble, and he can move his limbs again without them shaking.

The sun is just beginning to peak over the crest of the mountains in the distance when Zolf finally gets up out of bed, legs dragging behind him as he digs around his room for the ceremonial garb that his mother had laid out the other day, that Zolf had taken one look at and thrown to the floor, trying not to scream.

He pulls it on now, and shrugs off the absent feeling of wrongness, shrugs off everything that isn’t a direct thought path of what he is absolutely required to do today, and avoids the mirror as he heads out of the room.

They’ll have to head over to the church first, where the coffin is waiting, where they’ll begin the procession through the town and up the mountain, to Feryn’s tomb.

Zolf mentally prepares himself as he walks down the stairs, footsteps quiet. His mother and father are sitting at the table; his father is staring stonily ahead, cup of tea forgotten on the table as his mother stands at the sink, shoulders shaking. Zolf comes up behind her and taps her on the arm; she jumps slightly and turns toward him, eyes red. She gives a little hiccuped sob and pulls him into a hug.

He pats her on the back, tucking his head into the crook of her neck as he gives a long, shuddering breath.

“When are we leaving?” he says, voice rough and cracked as he pulls away and furns to face his father.

“Ten minutes.”

Zolf nods and goes to sit down at the table. His stomach is still roiling, and the thought of food just sends it into more tempestuous waters. They all sit there in silence until Zolf’s father stands up, heading over to his mother and gently taking her hand.

“It’s time.”

Together, they head out of the house, Zolf’s parents leading the way as he brings up the rear, stepping quietly into the morning light.

 

—

 

Zolf stared hard at the block of wood in his hand, tongue sticking out between his teeth as he tried to get the perfect curve to the ax. He’d already ruined three attempts at the pendant’s sigil, sitting discarded on the ground next to him.

The pickaxe was the hardest to carve; he didn’t want it to look bulky, but making it too thin would end up with the wood snapping before Zolf could make it perfect. The issue was that he was running out of not only wood, but _time_ , since they were going to be giving Feryn his gifts at dinner that night.

Today was Feryn’s 18th birthday, and at 10 Zolf had been deemed old enough to finally give him a gift himself instead of having to rely on whatever his mother or father picked out for him. He’d been practicing woodcarving a lot recently in anticipation, after hearing some of the older miners talk about the carved sigils that kept them safe in the mine. Some had been carved by their partners, some had been carved by their family, and some had been carved by friends.

Feryn still didn’t have a sigil to protect him, and he’d been working in the mine for two years now. He hadn’t had any close calls, thankfully, but Zolf still wanted to give him something to keep him safe.

He’d asked his dad what he should make, and Hirald had told him that a pickaxe resting on an anvil was the Smith family crest, so that’s what Zolf decided on.

He worked through the rest of the day, chucking away two more attempts before he finally made something that didn’t snap when he just looked at it wrong. And Zolf was pretty proud of it, too. The only remaining step was to sand it (easy enough) before he could wrap it and give it to Feryn.

It didn’t take him too long, but by the time he finished it was nearly time for dinner and Zolf was rushing back to the house. His mother helped him wrap the gift quickly, and he stuck it on the table as they both waited for Feryn and Hirald to get home.

It didn’t take long; within no time, they had come in through the front door, changed and washed up, dinner was on the table and then finished, and it was time to give Feryn his gifts.

“Open mine first!” Zolf said, pushing his gift into Feryn’s lap before either of his parents could. Feryn laughed, balancing it as best he could with one hand.

“Okay, okay,” he said, giving Zolf a fond look. “It better be good.”

“It is, just open it!” Zolf said impatiently, pushing at his brother’s arm.

Feryn pulled the paper apart and picked the sigil up, turning it over in his hands. “Is this a luck charm?” he asked, running his fingers over the anvil and pickaxe set in the middle of the sigil.

Zolf nodded. “Do you like it?” he asked, anxious.

Feryn pulled him into a tight hug. “I love it, thanks. I’ll keep it in my pocket whenever I go to work.” He looked closer at the sigil, pointing at the pickaxe. “Is this our family crest?”

“It is,” Hirald said. “Zolf wanted that to be part of the sigil. He was determined.”

“Thanks, kid,” Feryn said, reaching over and ruffling Zolf’s hair. As always, Zolf scooted back with a scowl on his face, but he couldn’t completely hide the smile.

“And now, ours. Happy birthday,” Hirald said, handing Feryn a small box with silver inlaid around the edges. Feryn gave him a confused look, and popped open the box. Inside sat a heavy silver ring with a crest Zolf didn’t recognize set into the face. He leaned over to peer at the ring; the crest bore the symbols of a heart, a diamond, a spade, and a club, all black, set in a square bordered by a wreath. In the middle of the crest was a small pickaxe, glinting a deep red color. Feryn didn’t move, even as Zolf scooted closer to get a better look.

He looked up finally. “I thought you didn’t approve?” Feryn said, glancing between his mother and father.

Hirald doesn’t look happy in the slightest, but he gives a tiny shrug of his shoulders before answering in a deep, gruff voice. “You’re 18. I can’t be the one making all of your decisions for you. But,” he leaned forward to clasp Feryn’s arm, “when you wear this ring - _my_  ring - remember that your loyalties lie with your family first.”

Feryn nods slowly, gripping their father‘s arm back. “I will, Dad, I - thank you.”

“Happy birthday, Feryn.”

Feryn slipped the ring onto his finger; it fit perfectly.

“What does it mean?” Zolf asked, poking his brother in the arm.

Feryn ruffled his hair (again) and Zolf scooted back (again), scowling at his older brother.

“You’ll learn about it when you’re older,” he said, poking Zolf back teasingly.

Zolf just pouted, staring at the ring. It was pretty cool, he supposed. Maybe his dad had another one that he could wear someday. 

 

—

 

The coffin is heavy. Zolf and his father are in front, on opposite sides, followed by four of the other miners. The trek from the church to the mountain is a long one.

As is tradition, their neighbors stand outside their homes, all dressed in ceremonial garb, watching solemnly. As the funeral procession passes them, they join the line of mourners, making their way

up to the moutain, where the coffin will be interred into the stone tomb.

Zolf follows the lead of the Hephaestus priest, walking slowly in front of them along the path. He’s taking slow, measured steps, and the pallbearers are all matching his pace. Zolf can’t see his father opposite him, but he assumes that his face is still the set stone mask he had this morning, and he’s trying his best to keep his own face blank, devoid of emotion.

It was hard yesterday, and it’s harder now, when he’s unable to escape the fact that the weight on his back is Feryn.

 

—

 

“Oh, you two look so alike!” Ms. Hillfall said, reaching out to pinch Zolf’s cheek. He barely refrained from leaning away, staring daggers at Feryn who seemed to be just far enough out of her reach and hiding a smile. “You’ve really grown up, dear, and so handsome now!” She patted his cheek this time, and turned to Feryn (who shot Zolf a quick, worried look), giving him the same treatment.

He at least took it with more grace than Zolf did, giving her a winning smile and topping it off with a kiss on the cheek.

She fussed for a little bit longer before pinching their cheeks again and bidding them both goodbye.

“We don’t look that alike,” Zolf managed to say, watching Mrs. Hillfall head down the aisle. “And why do all old ladies pinch my cheeks? It’s just embarrassing. I’m 14, I’m not a kid anymore.”

Feryn swatted the back of his head and Zolf grumbled, turning back to glare at his brother, who just looked exasperated. “First off, be respectful. Mrs. Hillfall and her wife were some of the first people to bring food round our house after you were born. Second, 14 isn’t that old, Zolf.”

Zolf’s brow furrrowed as he frowned. “It’s old enough to not get pinched on the cheek anymore.”

“Trust me, you will never be too old for little old ladies to come up and pinch you on the cheek. It’s in their DNA or something.”

Zolf grumbled for another minute as they walked through the store, ducking behind Feryn anytime he thought he saw Mrs. Hillfall again (it was, frankly, an embarrassing number of times, which Feryn definitely made a point to comment on, which made Zolf hit him on the arm, which made Feryn grab him in a headlock until Zolf tapped out when the store manager came over and fixed them both with a disapproving glare).

“I just don’t think we look that alike, is all,” Zolf said as they left the store, slowly making their way back to the cottage.

Feryn grinned, posing in the street. “What, you don’t want to look like this?”

Zolf just shoved him over.

 

—

 

The priest finishes chanting and steps back from the body. “If anyone has any gifts to leave the deceased,” he says, not unkindly, “please bring them forward now.”

It’s an unspoken rule to let the family go last at funerals, so a few miners step forward first and drop items into the coffin; one a headlight that has Feryn’s name written almost illegibly on it; another the broken head of a pickax; and last, a chunk of diamond that gleams in the light.

A few of Feryn’s old school friends follow them, dropping more items into the coffin and giving Zolf and his parents sympathetic looks as they pass.

Zolf’s fists tighten as the day drags on (one of Feryn’s friends drops an old journal in the tomb) and it gets closer to being his turn (another miner steps up and gently places a dark red stone on Feryn’s chest).

When it’s their turn, his father goes up first, a small bag at his side. He kneels down in front of the tomb, speaking too quietly for anyone to hear anything other than a murmur. Zolf watches, chest tight, as he pulls out one of Feryn’s favorite books, and laying it down in the coffin as gently as possible, then repeating the process with an old letter Feryn had written for him, some trinkets, and finally the blood-red signet ring that he’d given to Feryn on his 18th birthday.

Hirald’s shoulder’s shake as he continues to kneel in front of the tomb, reaching a hand out and pressing it against Feryn’s head. He stands, face as hard as stone even as tears fall from his eyes.

Zolf’s mother is no less composed as she steps up to the tomb and sinks to her knees. She places some of Feryn’s old toys in the tomb, hands shaking. But she doesn’t cry out, just reaches a hand into the tomb as Hirald had, bowing her head to touch her forehead to Feryn’s cloth-covered one. Zolf doesn’t hear what she says.

And then she steps back, and comes over to him and squeezes his arm.

Zolf kneels down in front of the tomb, head bowed to avoid looking at the body of his brother; it’s still wrapped in the ceremonial garb, but he’s already almost thrown up three times today at the thought of seeing his brother like this, so he just... doesn’t want to think about it.

He pulls a wooden sigil out of his pocket. It had been one of the few things recovered from the wreckage, returned to Zolf covered in dirt but not damaged, somehow. The pickaxe and the anvil are faded, some of the color leeched away in the places where Feryn would rub it the most. Zolf had watched him stroke the sigil absentmindedly the few times he had gone down in the mines with his brother, and it was always in the same spot. He can feel the heat of the tears falling down his face as he clutches the sigil to his chest once more.

He leans forward and presses his forehead against the stone. “I’m so sorry, Feryn,” he whispers, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “I - I’m sorry.”

The sigil falls from his hands, dropping almost noiselessly into the coffin.

 

—

 

Zolf was sulking. This wasn’t a completely uncommon state for him to be in, at the ripe age of 15, and it definitely wasn’t even the first time this week that he’d locked himself in his room after a fight with his brother.

He waited until he heard both his mother and father go to bed before he flipped the latch on his window and pushed it open as quietly as possible. The porch roof, right outside his window, was the easiest way to get up to the roof, and Zolf had spent a number of nights laying down and looking up at the stars instead of sleeping, trying to identify the constellations. He climbed outside and shut the window behind him, leaning back against the house and staring off into the dark.

He picked the sticks and leaves up off of the roof, shredding them into tiny little pieces and letting them blow off of his hand in the wind.

The window opened behind him and Zolf jumped, turning around to see Feryn climbing through the gap.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” he accused in a half whisper, reaching behind Feryn to shut the window so that their parents couldn’t hear them. Feryn gave him an unapologetic grin before leaning up against the roof next to Zolf.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes while Zolf glared up at the sky.

“I know you’re mad at me,” Feryn finally said, nudging Zolf’s shoulder with his own.

“What made you think that?” Zolf asked, sarcasm leaking from every word.

“Mainly the way you ran out yelling at me, that might’ve done it,” Feryn responded, matching his tone. “That was dangerous, by the way.”

”Sorry, I was a bit too pissed to think about it, since you basically told me to fuck off about sailing.”

“I didn’t tell you to fuck off, and watch your -“

“Oh, how else was I supposed to -“

“That’s not what I meant and -“

“Gods, Feryn! You always _do_  this -“

“Zolf -“

“Can’t you just support me? You’re my brother, Feryn, and I love you, and Dad, but I just don’t want to be a miner!”

“I’m sorry, alright? I just -“ Feryn blew out a short huff of breath. “I know how Dad reacts to things. I know you want to be on the sea, but I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Well,” Zolf said, shifting uncomfortably. “You could be less of a dick about it.”

Feryn shook his head, laughing. “I’ll try to remember that in the future.”

“...Thanks.”

Feryn clapped a hand on Zolf’s shoulder. “You’re still my brother, and I love you, okay?”

Zolf nodded. “Yeah - you, you too, Feryn.”

 

—

 

The priest of Hephaestus bends over the stone coffin, resting a wrinkled hand on the smooth surface and pressing it down. He begins to mutter words under his breath, Old English by the cadence, but Zolf doesn’t understand a single word of it. His parents had taught both him and Feryn the language when they were younger, but it had stuck with Feryn much better than Zolf.

Zolf’s mother is shaking at his side; Zolf reaches over and wraps an arm around her shoulders and she leans into his embrace, tears falling down her face.

The priest finally stops speaking and steps back from the stone, holding his arms out to the side. Zolf can see the engraved history of Feryn’s life inscribed into the side; a list of his accomplishments immortalized into the stone.

 

—

 

So maybe telling his father that he didn’t want to be a miner over dinner hadn’t been the best decision Zolf had ever made. But it was all just so frustrating, and his dad kept telling Zolf that he was going to have to follow the family business, and that there was only one more year left until he would be able to join Feryn and his dad in the mines next to their little town, and he’d just... blown up a bit.

Because he didn’t want to go into the mines, thanks, he hated the idea of being confined to the dark when there’s so much world out there, and he’d been in love with the sea for as long as he could remember, and he doesn’t really care how much it pisses his dad off and disappoints his mother or Feryn, he wants to be a sailor.

But Hirald had absolutely exploded, yelling about how Zolf didn’t understand loyalty to his family, and Zolf yelling back about how he did, but Hirald would never accept anything other than a miner for a son, and it had escalated so quickly that Zolf couldn’t do anything but react to his anger.

And then Hirald had yelled about how Zolf was a disappointment, and Feryn has stood up from the table.

“Dad, listen, Zolf just wants to do something different, he could at least have the chance to -“

“Don’t defend him, Feryn!” Hirald yelled, turning a fiery gaze on his eldest son. “If Zolf is old enough to decide his future, then he’s old enough to deal with the consequences of his actions!”

Zolf stared back at him, fists clenching as he felt an angry red blush spread over his cheeks. He opened his mouth to scream back, but instead ran off, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door shut behind him as he collapsed on his bed, screaming into his pillow.

He could hear Feryn and Hirald arguing downstairs, voices raised. Hirald yelled something Zolf couldn’t make out, and then the front door slammed.

Feryn came into his room a minute or two later, sitting down on Zolf’s bed with a quiet sigh.

“This is... this is just how Dad is, yeah? Has an idea for everything. Wants it to go that way.” Feryn shrugged. “He’ll come around to it soon.”

Zolf scoffed. “Will he? Since when has Dad ever walked something back?”

Feryn made a small noise of agreement.

“You asked me to support you, and I will. Just... be smart about it, yeah? You’re only 15. This is a couple of years off anyway. Make Dad happy, come down into the mines with me a few times a month, let him get used to the idea.”

Zolf nodded, still glaring at the wall. Feryn sighed again, and Zolf felt the weight lift off of his bed. He still didn’t turn around as he heard Feryn’s footsteps head away, and squeezed his eyes shut as the footsteps paused in his doorway.

“You can talk to me, Zolf, alright?”

Zolf acknowledged him for the first time with a slight nod, but didn’t turn around.

Feryn shut the door gently and Zolf rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He knew that Hirald wouldn’t let him be a sailor, whatever Feryn told him. But the thought of being in the mines forever, never seeing the sun, never being able to spend the day in the fresh air, it terrified him.

He didn’t want to be a miner. He wanted to be a sailor, wanted to spend his life on the ocean, but if he stayed here he was never going to be able to be anything other than what his father wanted him to be.

 

—

 

Zolf had packed a bag before Feryn’s burial cermony had begun. There was nothing here that he wanted to stay around here for anymore; the only future he had was becoming the patriarch of his family and mining for the rest of his life. He just... he can’t do that.

The priest of Hephaestus had said his final goodbyes to Feryn before magically pushing the coffin back into the wall of the cave, encasing it for the final time in the rock.Three miners had pushed a boulder in front of the coffins place, where Feryn’s name was inscribed in Old English, as a grave marker.

Slowly, everyone had filtered out of the cave apart from Zolf and his parents, standing there in silence as it slowly got dark outside. Hirald had been the first to speak up, wrapping an arm around his wife and escorting her out of the cave as she weepers.

Zolf had stood there for another minute. He stepped closer to the boulder hiding his brother’s body and rested his forehead against it.

“I’m sorry. I’m leaving. I’ll never forget, Feryn.”

He’d taken a step back and brushed his hands against the rock one last time before following his parents out of the cave.

Now, he rolls Feryn’s signet ring around in his palm. It glints in the pale lamp light, flames flickering off of the deep red pickax in the middle of the crest. He doesn’t think anyone noticed him take it from the stack of Feryn’s belongings to be interred into the tomb with him, and he sends up a quick prayer to Hephaestus in apology, but he couldn’t just let it sit next to his brother’s body encased in stone.

It fits onto his finger immediately, like it had been meant to be there all along. He still doesn’t know what it means - Feryn had never actually gotten around to telling him, and Zolf knows that if he talks to his father now he’s never going to be able to leave - but he doesn’t really care, not now. It wasn’t what got Feryn killed.

If doesn’t matter. It’s his ring now, one of the few material things he has of his brother’s, and he’s not going to give it up for anything.

He should feel bad for leaving in the middle of the night, under the cover of darkness, the same day that they buried his brother. His parents deserve an explanation, and Zolf feels bad for only leaving a note, but his head already feels like the room is shrinking around him, has been for a couple days now, and if he stays here any longer he just thinks he’s going to make a bad decision and he... he needs to get out.

There’s a naval base a couple of hours away, and Zolf has already got tickets booked for a train leaving from the next town over. If he’s lucky, they’ll enlist him into the navy immediately and he can be gone, shipped off to a training camp where he can leave all the rest of this behind. He walks down the stairs as carefully as he can, avoiding the squeaky step at the bottom. 

Zolf takes one last look around the kitchen and carefully sets his note down on the table. Being as quiet as possible, he opens the front door and guides it shut.

The path ahead of him is long and winding; Zolf stares out into the dark, gripping the bag at his side tightly. He steps off the front porch and walks off, turning back to look at the cottage.

The lights are dark, but he can see himself and Feryn sitting on the roof, playing in the yard, running through the open door laughing and yelling. He can see his life splayed out before him; but Feryn is gone, and he isn’t coming back, and Zolf has lost his older brother and the only reason he was staying in this godforsaken town instead of getting out while he coild.

He turns, locks the gate, and walks off into the fog.


End file.
